


Dancing With the Spies

by GrumpyGhostOwl



Series: Battle of the Planets: 2163 [21]
Category: Battle of the Planets
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Things-fall-down-go-"Boom!"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 08:12:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8155255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyGhostOwl/pseuds/GrumpyGhostOwl
Summary: Princess has her mission - a classic black tie infiltration: attend the Rigan Unity Day ball, plant some data collection devices and go home, so what's going to be the biggest danger? Boredom? Diplomatic double-speak? Anti-war protestors? Tabloid journalists? Or something else? By the time the party's over, the Rigans will need to redecorate their Embassy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Shayron Alvarado and Kat Ross for beta reading and technical advice.

I was dancing. Waltzing, to be precise. My partner was tall and confident, guiding me gently but decisively around the floor. It was easy to follow his lead and move with the lilting beat of the music. Strings and woodwind washed over me and carried us around and around. It could have been so romantic if it weren’t for one thing...  
  
"You seem to have the hang of it, Princess," Chief Anderson said, and let me go. The magical ballroom of my imagination was once again the G-Force training room at Camp Parker and my dance partner was to all intents and purposes my dad. At least I hadn’t been standing on his feet.  
  
"Yes, sir," I said, and attempted a smile.  
  
"Only you'd rather you were... dancing with someone you'd rather be dancing with," he said. His expression was wry, not quite a smile, but it conveyed understanding and I sighed like a teenaged girl. He gestured for me to precede him and we began walking toward the exit.  
  
"No offence," I said.  
  
"None taken," he said, waving away my apology. "Just don't ask for tips on how to tango. This is where I draw the line."  
  
I laughed at that, unable to prevent the mental picture of my dour Chief of Staff with a rose between his teeth springing to mind. "I'm sure I can avoid having to tango," I said. It wasn't as if Mark was about to volunteer.  
  
"I'm sorry things have to be the way they are," Anderson ventured. "The rules may seem harsh, Princess, but one-oh-nine part five is sound and it's there for a reason."  
  
"I know," I assured him. "I do understand, really I do. It's just... Sometimes… You know." I was about as articulate as a teenaged girl as well.  
  
"I know," he said, despite my demonstration of a total lack of communication skills. "We're all bound by the rules."  
  
I tilted my head to one side. "Even you?"  
  
He gave me a blank look. "Nobody’s above the rules."  
  
"Thanks for the lesson," I told him. "I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be for this mission."  
  
"You'll be fine," he told me, and I got the feeling that he meant it. "It was your analysis of the signal data that led us to the Rigan Embassy as the source of Spectra's intel. You have a real talent for this work, Princess, and I know you'll be able to follow it through in the field. You should give yourself more credit." He opened the door for me and followed me through, shutting it behind us. The sunlight was brilliant and I found myself looking up into an irresistibly blue sky. " _I_ should give you more credit. You've proven time and again that you're a real asset. Don't feel that just because Mark and Jason are more... physically imposing, that you aren't a vital part of the team or the agency. You can do this."  
  
Impulsively, I turned around and hugged him. I felt him freeze at first, then he patted me rather awkwardly on the shoulder. "I don't think I've ever said this," I told him, drawing away. "You know I never had a dad, but if I did, I'd want him to be like you are now."  
  
"Not like I was before, I take it," he twitted me.  
  
"Yeah, well... you were kinda... "  
  
"A jerk?" he inferred.  
  
"Aloof," I corrected. "Stern. You know... you compartmentalised everything. You're a lot more approachable now. I like it."  
  
"Thanks," he said. "I never had a daughter, either, but if I did..."  
  
"Hey," I told him, "this galaxy's only big enough for one of me!" I folded my arms and considered him for a moment: tall, well built, quite good-looking for an older guy. "Anyway, it's not like it's too late for you. It isn't that long ago that you were engaged. You could still find someone and have a family if you wanted to."  
  
"You know,” he said, “there's this interstellar war going on."  
  
"So?" I challenged. "Okay," I conceded after a moment. "We beat Spectra, then you have to get out there and start dating."  
  
"We beat Spectra," he corrected, "then I have to do the paperwork."  
  
"After that, then," I persisted. "Seriously, we _all_ have to go and get lives, you included! Do you realise that out of all us, _Jason_ is the only one in a normal relationship right now?"  
  
“I feel as though I should find that disturbing,” he said, frowning slightly.  
  
“And rightly so,” I told him.  
  
Anderson headed off to his quarters to go and do some of that paperwork he'd been griping about and I wandered down to the lake where I could see the rest of the team playing volleyball. Mark and Keyop were teamed up against Jason and Tiny and they seemed fairly evenly matched. What Keyop lacked in height he made up for with speed.  
  
I sat on the grass and watched them play for a while, glad of some time where I didn't have to think about anything much. I'd been busy lately. Chief Anderson had decided to give me a better cover story as well as try to develop my abilities by signing me up as a trainee analyst with Galaxy Security rather than the reservist cover I'd used in the early days of the Spectran conflict. My trainee status meant that my odd hours could be explained away as study time and it gave me a justifiable reason for a relatively decent security clearance. It also meant I had to spend time at Galaxy Security learning at the figurative feet of my mentors. My talent for analysis had come as something of a surprise to me. I'd always thought my strength lay in engineering and my particular speciality field of making things fall down and go 'boom!' One person who hadn't been surprised had been Dr Galbraith, the Deputy Chief of Galaxy Security. "You have an analytical mind," he'd told me. "You understand how things fit together. That same approach works with facts and evidence as well."  
  
"You should believe him," Anderson had said. "Dr Galbraith understands what makes people tick."  
  
Chief Anderson's liaison officer had been in the room at the time. She'd given me a sidelong glance and muttered, "He understands what makes people fall apart, too," as we left. Dr Galbraith had been one of Counter Espionage's best interrogators before he was promoted to management, and later the executive team.  
  
It was Anderson's liaison officer who signalled a return to work by way of a call from Nerve Center’s robot coordinator. My communicator chirped and I answered. "G-3, ears on."  
  
_"Hello, Princess,"_ 7-Zark-7 greeted me. _"Lieutenant Colonel Jones is arriving at the front gate and would like to meet you at your quarters."_  
  
"Sure, Zark," I said. "Tell her I'll be there."  
  
The boys were focussed on their game and didn't respond to my wave as I left.  
  
Lieutenant Colonel Alberta Jones was walking up to the entrance of the G-Force quarters when I arrived. She was wearing her midnight blue day uniform and had a trolley case with her. Colonel Jones gave the impression of being coolly competent and rarely let her feelings show. When she did it was usually a very brief flash of extremely dry humour like her comment about Dr Galbraith, or profound annoyance at Chief Anderson putting himself into dangerous situations. She'd started out as Anderson's security coordinator then she'd been moved into the position of liaison and protocol officer. Anderson said her job was 'to intercept as much of the stupidity that gets thrown my way as humanly possible.' Dealing with the stupidity had brought Colonel Jones' sarcasm to the fore. Anderson claimed to find it entertaining - particularly since it was aimed away from him.  
  
Who knew Anderson had a sense of humour? We'd only ever caught glimpses of it growing up. Logically, he had to have one (at least in theory) but he'd always presented a face to us that made him seem like a stern and controlling authority figure who didn't engage emotionally. Mark had always told me that Anderson had been different when he'd first started taking care of Mark, but he'd changed over the years and as Mark grew up, Anderson had become emotionally distant. When Spectra had managed to deliver a toxin by way of contaminated coffee supplies to the Galaxy Security executive office suite, several staff members had suffered heart attacks. The Science Director, a kind and brilliant man, had died. Several other staff became ill, Anderson's administrative assistant had been hospitalised and Chief Anderson came close to death. The experience had shaken all of us and the Chief had dropped a lot of the old emotional barriers. Mark in particular was clearly happy about it. Of the five of us, he'd known Anderson the longest and remembered what he used to be like. In a rare moment, Mark had confided in me that it was like having part of his childhood back.  
  
Suddenly, we had a father who cared about us, rather than a cold authority figure who told us what to do. He was still authoritative, still gave us orders and we still knew better than to challenge him, but the authority was tempered with concern and regard. As I'd said to him, it was nice and I liked it.  
  
He'd taken all of us out of difficult situations. Mark's father had named Anderson as guardian, so Mark had become Anderson's ward at the age of four. Jason had been next at seven when he was orphaned. Jason's parents had been close to Anderson so Mark and Jason became foster-brothers. Tiny and I had been selected for the G-Force programme when we were nine years old and Keyop had been the product of a genetics experiment. Tiny had lost his parents in a boating accident and I'd found myself in an orphanage after my mother died in a car crash. I'd never known who my father was. My birth certificate said, "Anonymous donor," and since my mother hadn't gone through official channels there was no record. I wondered sometimes if "anonymous donor" was just her way of not admitting that I was the result of a one-night stand or something. A genetics expert had told me that I had some Lucavian DNA in my makeup - probably a grandparent, she said, but that I was mostly Terran. I didn't give it a lot of thought. When it comes to nature versus nurture, I'm on nurture's side.  
  
"Hello, Princess," Colonel Jones greeted me. "I hope I didn't drag you away from anything."  
  
"Hi, Al," I said. "It's okay. I was just watching the boys play volleyball."  
  
She smiled at that. "A lot of girls would say that constituted being dragged away."  
  
"You want to have this discussion down by the lake so we can both be distracted?" I teased.  
  
"Later, perhaps," she said and followed me inside. Alberta Jones could be contradictory sometimes. She had the demeanour and that precise English accent that made junior officers complain that she was like a walking iceberg, but she let her friends call her 'Al,' and she could be really funny as long as you weren't on the receiving end. She had a reputation among the security staff for being a harsh taskmaster but whenever a position on her team came up there were multiple applicants. A recommendation from Colonel Jones was highly valued among the uniformed personnel.  
  
I showed Al into the shared living area and cringed. There were cups, game controllers, magazines and the remains of Tiny and Keyop’s paper-ball fight scattered all over the floor and the furniture. "I'm going to kill them," I growled.  
  
"I've seen worse," Al said.  
  
"What, seriously?" I knew perfectly well that Al had no children.  
  
"Well, it _was_ after a sustained shelling," she admitted.  
  
"So," I said, nodding toward the trolley case. "Is that my mission gear?"  
  
"It is," she said.  
  
"I'll clear a spot," I said.  
  
"Don't worry," Al told me. "You're going to need to take this to your room." She lay the case flat on a relatively uncluttered spot on the couch and lifted out a carry bag. When she removed the contents and shook it out, I barely repressed a squeal.  
  
"Don't let it touch the floor!" I squeaked.  
  
Al was holding up a dark green velvet evening gown with silver thread embroidery. It was in my size - it had to be - and it was the perfect colour for me. Wordlessly, I held out my arms and she gently draped the gown across them. It was heavier than it looked. "The gown is lined with lightweight flexible body armour," Al said. "Your torso and lower body will be protected but there isn't much we can do to protect your head unless you want to wear a wig and even then it won't be much." She bent to pick up a box out of the case. "Your shoes have an emergency transmitter inside the left heel. Both heels will come off with a clockwise twist and snap if you need to remove them." Al put the shoe box in a large plastic shopping bag and picked up another, smaller box. "Your earrings house a concealed commset and there's a tiny microphone in your choker." The jewellery box went into the carrier, then Al held up another smaller bag. "Silk stockings. They're just stockings but you ought to have something nice to go with the dress. I'll wait here while you try the dress on for size." I stuck my left hand out from under the dress and Al looped the handles of the carrier over my wrist.  
  
"Right," I said. "I'd say to make yourself comfortable but... um..."  
  
"Off you go," she said, waving a hand at me.  
  
"Do _not_ tidy up after them," I ordered. "They can do it themselves when they get back."  
  
I retreated to my room, shut the door behind me, dropped the dress and the bag on my bed then kicked off my shoes. I was in such a hurry to try on the dress that I managed to get my t-shirt caught on my ears and had a frustrating couple of seconds extricating myself. I took a breath and made myself lay my regular clothes out neatly before I picked up the dress. Very carefully, I stepped into it, put it on and zipped it up at the back. Standing in front of the mirror I looked at a reflection that almost seemed unfamiliar. I almost never wore pretty clothes, being obliged to wear my G-Force gear nearly all the time. The dress was superbly tailored, nipping in at the waist, flaring out over my hips and giving the illusion of a touch of décolletage without actually being too revealing. The wide scoop neckline met sleeves that were just loose enough to be comfortable and just wide enough to look elegant with a slight bell flare to them. I didn't bother with the stockings but couldn't resist trying on the shoes. They were green satin with silver accents and a mid heel that would allow me to run if I needed to. The jewellery was next: the silver and emerald earrings felt a little heavy but it was nothing I couldn't get used to and the choker was a perfect fit. I realised that the bag with the stockings was heavier than it should have been and I looked inside. There were the stockings - wickedly indulgent things - but there was also a thigh holster that was clearly designed to hold my G-Force yoyo. Was I supposed to hike up my skirts if I needed a weapon? No... wait. The standard issue black evening dresses that the female security officers wore to formal functions had a sort of pocket on each side of the skirt. I felt among the folds of the skirt to my right and found it. As I expected, the "pocket" was actually a sleeve that would allow me to access the yoyo in its holster, just like the security skirts let the officers reach for their firearms if they needed them.  
  
I opened the door and walked back out into the disaster that was the living room.  
  
Al gave me a genuine smile, "Cinderella," she said, "you _shall_ go to the ball."  
  
I laughed at the idea. "I think we're out of pumpkins."  
  
"I can find a car," Al said. "You look gorgeous. Not that there was ever any doubt." Al reached into the pocket of her jacket. "But wait, there's more." She extracted what looked like another jewellery box. Inside was a silver and emerald bracelet that almost matched the choker and earrings. It was slightly chunkier in design and Al showed me the reason why. The flattish little silver boxes linked together with the emeralds set on top of them, then every other tiny compartment contained a little electronic wafer etched with gold. "Wireless broad-spectrum data transfer units," Al said. "Each one of these gives Zark the ability to hack into any data source or stream but the range is limited to one and a half metres at the very most. Ideally you'll need to place these within one metre of a data source for it to be effective. Twelve links in the bracelet, but only six transmitters which gives you the five you’ll need for the mission and one spare. There’s one in every second link - the ones with the little silver beads - the bead is the handle that you use to draw the device out of the link."  
  
I nodded and practiced removing and replacing the data devices. “How do they attach to things?” I asked.  
  
“Nanotech,” Al said. “They store flat but once you take them out and press them up against something inorganic or synthetic they’ll flex and grab hold of the surface, so don’t try to attach them to people. Cables and electronic devices are your best bet, but if you have to, you can leave one lying on a desk top or an ‘in’ tray and it’ll still work.”  
  
“Wow,” I said. "I'm really going all secret agent for this one, aren't I?"  
  
"You won't be on your own," Al assured me, "and it isn't as if the Rigan Embassy is hostile territory. Think of it as an advanced training exercise."  
  
"I've been giving that some thought," I said. "If the Rigan Embassy isn't hostile territory, why hasn't the Chief simply handed this over to Rigan Intelligence? Even if there's a mole at the Embassy, there must be people he trusts. I mean, he worked with Mark's mom and she was a Rigan agent."  
  
"A few weeks ago," Al said, "when Chief Anderson asked me to approach the Rigans with our concerns, I was stonewalled. Reluctantly, but stonewalled nonetheless, by someone I knew and trusted when I was stationed at the Federation Embassy on Riga. It was _implied_ in the most careful and diplomatic of terms - and quite off the record - that if we wanted to find the leak, we'd have to do it ourselves."  
  
"Wow. Will your contact help us?"  
  
"Perhaps," Al said. "It depends on the circumstances, I suppose."  
  
I looked down at the beautiful dress and sighed. "I'd better get out of these clothes before I get cheetos on the hem or something."  
  
"I'll go then," Al said. "I'll see you at Chief Anderson's quarters at fourteen hundred hours tomorrow."  
  
"Fourteen hundred?" I echoed. "That's a little early, isn't it?"  
  
"Not if I'm doing your hair," Al said as she left. "If you're going to do something, do it properly."  
  
I swallowed. What was I letting myself in for?  
  
  
  
When thirteen forty-five came around the next day, I was ready to bail on the boys. The living room was even messier than it had been the day before and the lunch dishes were stacked higgledy-piggledy on the kitchen counter as though waiting for some doormat (namely me) to rinse them and put them in the dishwasher along with my dishes.  
  
"Going somewhere?" Mark asked from the sofa. He didn't offer to open the door or help with the trolley case I was hauling.  
  
"Briefing," I said and kept walking.  
  
"Briefing isn't until seventeen hundred," Mark pointed out.  
  
"For you, maybe," I said. "The grown-ups are starting early." I opened the door, marched out and pulled it shut behind me with a little more force than was strictly necessary. It wasn't quite a slam, but it wasn't a gentle click, either.  
  
I won't say that I stormed all the way to Chief Anderson's quarters but I did walk briskly.  
  
Zark must have warned Anderson about my mood because he appeared to have made himself scarce. Al opened the door as I arrived and waved me in. She steered me into the spare bedroom and sat me in a chair in front of the dressing table. The table in front of me was piled high with what could have been implements of torture but turned out to be curlers and hair styling gear when I took a second glance.  
  
I was taken aback when a flute of something effervescent was pressed into my hand. "What -?" I started to ask.  
  
"Non-alcoholic bubbly," Al said. "Lacks the panache of real champagne but one ought to have _something_ for an afternoon like this, don't you think? Cheers."  
  
I relaxed into the chair as Al swung a hairdresser's cape around to cover my shoulders and did up the little ties at the back. "Absolutely," I agreed and took a sip of the sparkly grape juice. Maybe it wasn't real champagne but it beat glaring at the dirty dishes in the G-Force kitchen.  
  
Al misted, combed, twisted and fussed over my hair while we sipped and chatted. I'd picked out a very pale pink enamel for my nails and applied it while Al did my hair. It was actually quite relaxing. "Where'd you learn to do this?" I asked.  
  
"Oh, you know. Girls' nights. Sleepovers, slumber parties." She considered the blank look I was giving her by way of the mirror. "You never, um...?"  
  
"Never," I confessed.  
  
Al put her hands on her hips. "I think I need to talk to the Chief about rounding out your education, my girl," she said.  
  
As if on cue, there was a tap at the door. "Yes!" we chorused.  
  
The door opened and Chief Anderson peered in. I'd never seen him look quite so nervous before. "Is everything all right?" he asked. He wrinkled his nose. "Is there any oxygen left in the air?"  
  
"For heaven's sake!" Al brandished a hairbrush. "Anyone would think you'd never encountered hair spray before! Sir," she added.  
  
"The briefing starts in an hour," Anderson said and made a strategic withdrawal.  
  
"Did you just intimidate him?" I asked.  
  
"Don't be silly," Al said.  
  
Forty minutes later the curlers were out and my hair was ready for the Rigan Embassy. My makeup was done and it was time to get changed. Al helped me into the beautiful green dress then changed into her own sober gown while I put on the thigh holster for my yoyo and practised accessing it through the fake pocket in my skirt. Al did the same with her service pistol and we were ready to go.  
  
I checked my look in the mirror one more time. With the dress, the hairstyle and the makeup, I looked older and far more sophisticated than I felt. A tap at the door heralded the arrival of Shay Alban, the Chief's Security Coordinator.  
  
"Looking good, kiddo," Shay said by way of greeting. "Got one last little thing to finish the ensemble. Early birthday present." Shay stood behind me and eased two ornate silver sticks into my hairdo. "Throwing knives," she explained. "They're sheathed so you won't give yourself a bad haircut getting them out. Try 'em for size."  
  
I did and examined them. They were made of some kind of lightweight alloy with deadly sharp edges and perfect balance. When sheathed, they looked like silver hair ornaments with a pair of swans at the tips. "A present? Thank you!" I turned around to give Shay a hug.  
  
"You're welcome," Shay said. "Knew your birthday was coming up and really, what do you get for the super-powered commando warrior gal who has everything?"  
  
"Where'd you find them?" I asked, turning back to the mirror to look at the tiny silver swans again.  
  
"Little specialist weapon smith on Riga," Shay said. "I've bought stuff from her before. She's a mean gal with a hammer and a lump of hot metal." Shay checked her watch. "Briefing starts in ten. We’d best be early if we don't want the Chief all bent outa shape."  
  
The dress was perfect for sweeping exits so I swept out of the room with Al and Shay behind me. We found Anderson in his study, all tricked out in his evening clothes. He looked quite dashing. "All set," I announced.  
  
"You look lovely," he told me. "Are those Al's throwing knives?" he asked, looking at my coiffure.  
  
"They're mine," I said proudly. "Early birthday gift from Shay."  
  
"Of course," Anderson said. "What else? No purse-sized crossbow?"  
  
Shay smirked at our Chief of Staff. "Gotta save something for Christmas, sir."  
  
"You all know the mission," Anderson said, bringing the conversation on track. "We attend the Unity Day ball at the Rigan Embassy. Princess places our data transfer pickups at the strategic points identified by Zark and we leave. Clean, surgical, uncomplicated."  
  
"Al and I are your bodyguards," Shay said. "We stay in the background and watch both your backs. G-Force are nearby, ready to move if we need them. Nice and neat."  
  
"Comms check?" I suggested. "Zark, you got ears on?"  
  
_"Loud and clear, Princess,"_ 7-Zark-7 said. _"Network open. Reading you five. Chief Anderson?"_  
  
"Readability five, Zark," Anderson said.  
  
_"Readability five, Chief,"_ 7-Zark-7 said. _"Colonel Jones?"_  
  
"Readability five, Zark," Al said.  
  
_"Readability five, Colonel,"_ 7-Zark-7 said. _"Major Alban?"_  
  
"Yeah, whatever," Shay said. "What? Okay, five already."  
  
_"Readability five, Major,"_ 7-Zark-7 said. _"I do wish you'd stick to regulation RT."_  
  
"I know you do," Shay said. "That's why I don't."  
  
"Oh, Shay, leave him alone," Al said. "It's not as if he can help it."  
  
_"What can't I help?"_ Zark demanded. He sounded upset.  
  
Al winced. She mustn't have realised that Zark had left the network open. "Annoying Shay, Zark," she explained gently. "No-one can help it. It just happens." She held up a warning index finger to forestall any further comment from her colleague. "Doesn't it, Shay?"  
  
Shay sighed and rolled her eyes. "Yes. It just happens. I get annoyed easily." She glared at Al. "Very easily. More and more easily these days. Even by my allegedly best friend. Can we close the comms now until we actually need to be eavesdropped on?"  
  
_"Closing network,"_ Zark said, and I heard a very subtle click in the earpiece of my comm. If I didn't know better, I'd have said Zark was clenching his teeth, but that was impossible. Zark doesn't have teeth. Except maybe in some of his gears.  
  
Shay perched on the edge of an armchair, which was about all those skirts would let anyone do. "I don't see why you pander to that overpriced GPS. It isn't as though it has feelings!" she growled.  
  
"He thinks he has feelings," Al said. " _Cogito ergo sum_. Besides, he gets distracted when he's upset and we need him with his head in the game."  
  
"It's not a 'he,'" Shay grumbled. "It's an 'it.'"  
  
"This from someone who names her cars," Al parried.  
  
A knock at the door forestalled any more discussion. "Enter!" Anderson said and the rest of G-Force ran into the study like a herd of wildebeest - large, noisy, smelly, hairy animals with a tendency to snort.  
  
For a moment they stood and stared at me as though I'd just offered them jello salad with scorpions in.  
  
"Do I have something on my face?" I asked.  
  
"Uh..." Mark said as though I'd just offered him jello salad with scorpions, mayo and a side of fries.  
  
Jason tried to be discreet as he kicked Mark in the ankle but it isn't the sort of thing you can disguise when you're wearing thigh-high boots as part of your combat gear. When Mark didn't take the hint, Jason spoke up. "You look amazing. Breathtaking," he added. "Amazingly breathtaking. Mark's obviously been rendered speechless, right, Mark?"  
  
"Uh..." Mark said again.  
  
Jason made as if to facepalm and remembered in the nick of time to avoid impaling his hand on the tip of his visor.  
  
Men! No. Not men, _boys_.  
  
Mark finally found his voice. "Heh. Jason's right, Princess. You look great. Nice suit, by the way, Chief."  
  
"Have a seat," Anderson said. "As you know, we're going to be looking for a leak at the Rigan Embassy tonight."  
  
Tiny chuckled. "Should we call a plumber?" he joked.  
  
Anderson gave him a Look that silenced him. I considered this for a moment. It really was a skill I ought to master. Maybe I could ask for lessons.  
  
Mark avoided eye contact with me throughout the briefing. I quietly fumed even though I wasn't really a hundred percent certain exactly _why_ I was angry. Maybe I just expected too much of Mark. There were times when he was almost flirtatious with me. We exchanged private messages a lot, talked sometimes. He often hinted at his feelings but rarely came right out and said anything. Anderson was right in that rule 109(v) kept us apart, but the way Mark ran hot and cold really got on my nerves sometimes.  
  
I knew the briefing off by heart already so I pretended to pay attention while zoning out and adding things up in the 'for' and 'against' columns under the main heading of 'Mark.'  
  
On the plus side, he'd told me that he cared, but how much did he care? There were feelings there, but whether those feelings would survive the war and our eventual - hopefully - transition to post-war normality was anybody's guess.  
  
On the minus side, well, there was the elephant in the room: ISO Standing Order 109(v) which stated that fraternisation within a chain of command was prohibited under any and all circumstances. No exceptions, no excuses, just no.  
  
"Are there any questions?" Anderson asked, clearly expecting that there wouldn't be. Everyone did their best to look alert, informed and question-free.  
  
"Good luck, everyone," Anderson said. "Let's go to the ball." The last was uttered with so little enthusiasm I doubted there was a standard unit of measurement small enough to quantify it.  
  
The boys did their usual thing and raced from the room, leaving the rest of us in their wake. To be fair, I was usually right up there with them but this time I noticed just how disconcerting it could be. The four of us made our way out at a more sedate pace.  
  
  
  
The _Phoenix_ stood on the tarmac, her APU idling. The belly ramp was down. I wasn't wearing my G-Force wrist unit so I opened a channel on the commset I was wearing. "Permission to come aboard, Tiny?"  
  
_"Stand on the ramp, hands and feet inside the yellow lines, please. First class is now boarding. Thank you for flying Air G-Force,"_ Tiny responded. Beside me I saw Shay execute another flawless eye roll.  
  
We bunched up on the ramp and adjusted our balance slightly as the platform began to rise.  
  
Shay, Al and I tucked our skirts in around us to make room for Chief Anderson. All that fabric was taking up quite a bit of space on the ramp. Both security officers were wearing the standard issue high-necked long black gowns that female officers had the option of wearing when on duty at formal functions. Their other option was the same black suit that the male officers wore. Strictly speaking, the ISO equal opportunity policy meant that male officers could wear the gowns too if they wanted, but I'd never seen it happen. I'd worn one myself once and felt as though I ought to be dancing on rooftops waving an umbrella and singing about chimney sweeps. The skirts were heavy but roomy and the gathers and drapes in the back allowed for a bum-bag where a girl could stash her makeup bag or a spare weapon and several clips of ammunition. My friend Fran complained that the black dresses made the female security officers look like nuns. Shay joked that chastity, poverty and obedience weren't her style.  
  
When the ramp was locked in place and the tell-tales on the hatch panel were green, we confirmed Tiny's all-clear and headed up to the bridge. I felt and heard the whine and rumble of the turbines winding up and the _Phoenix_ began to taxi to the runway for launch. Once we got to the bridge, Tiny powered up the inertial damping field and we hardly felt the forces of take-off. It wasn't long before we were on approach to Seahorse Base. I'd done the math in my head and figured we'd be spending more time in the limousine between Seahorse Base and the Rigan Embassy than we did in the air.  
  
Mark left the bridge shortly before we landed and as we prepared to disembark he reappeared wearing his G‑Sec blues. At the Embassy, he would look like just another security officer, albeit a rather high-ranking one for his age. He looked uncomfortable and adorable at the same time. I did my best not to smile. There's something about the cut of an ISO uniform tunic that makes a man look good.  
  
Jason, Keyop and Tiny remained aboard the _Phoenix_ while Mark rode to ground level with us and saw us into the limousine. He and Major Alban took the front seats while the Chief, Al and I got in back. The privacy barrier was down and I watched Mark take a moment to familiarise himself with the controls.  
  
"Time to get this show on the road," he remarked and started the engine.  
  
"Open the comms network," Al said, and Shay groaned.  
  
"It was so peaceful," she complained.  
  
Zark still sounded miffed as he signed on and we double checked our communications network for the second and final time before going in.  
  
Mark guided the limo through the traffic and I decided to try small talk. "Shay, you and Al were stationed on Riga in 'sixty-one, right? Do you know any of the people at the Rigan Embassy?"  
  
Shay turned in her seat to address me. "Yeah. The Federation Embassy came under attack and we got the word from the Secretary to haul ass back to Earth. Things got pretty hot for a while, then a squad of Rigan troops turned up and lay down covering fire long enough for us to get out of what was left of the compound. They helped us round up and transport all the Embassy staff and a whole bunch of Federation citizens who needed to get off world. If it hadn't been for them, we might not have made it out. Some of those people are on staff at the Embassy. I don't mind telling you, it feels awkward to be spying on people I consider friends." She held up a hand to forestall any protest. "I get that we have to do this. It just feels weird, is all."  
  
"You have to admit," Al said, "our relationship with Riga’s cooled off quite a bit since the Federation decided the defence of Riga was nonviable. We did leave them high and dry, militarily speaking."  
  
"Yeah," Mark said. "With friends like us, who needs enemies?"  
  
  
  
When we arrived at the Rigan Embassy we found the compound ablaze with lights in a defiant celebration of its Unity Day holiday, the anniversary (according to the Rigan calendar) of the formation of its first Planetary Government. Although his home world was battered, depleted and besieged by Spectra, Riga's representative on Earth was putting on a brave face.  
  
Limousines were inching their way along the drive, stopping to disgorge Center City's glitterati. I'd seen the guest list: a litany of the rich, the powerful, the famous and the infamous. President Alexander Kane and the First Lady would arrive close to last as was their due in order to make an entrance, but the Embassy grounds were already crawling with both Rigan and Federation security personnel, all ostensibly working together in a spirit of cooperation. On paper, anyway.  
  
While the car crawled along the drive at what felt like a snail's pace, I looked up at the pillared, Georgian-style facade of the building. "Looks like the Rigans have gone all-out for this one," I remarked.  
  
"Wait until you see inside," Al said. "Madame Irazi's parties are famous. She'll remember you, so make sure you spend some time chatting with her."  
  
I remembered Madame Irazi. She’d been part of a group I'd rescued from Zoltar's Firedrake ship. She was tough and intelligent and I had a lot of respect for her.  
  
When the big car finally halted and a Rigan security officer opened the door, we stepped out on to the paving. Mark drove away to carry out his part of the mission while we women shook out our skirts and Chief Anderson took my arm to lead me into the Embassy.  
  
We paused in the foyer and I saw Anderson sweeping the assembly with a jaded gaze. There at the centre of a milling school of large and small socio-political fish was His Excellency Elarn Irazi the Rigan Ambassador, unashamedly flaunting his mistress while his wife held court on the other side of the room near an elaborate water confection of crystal and tiny fairy lights in the Rigan planetary colours of red and blue. The Mayor of Center City and his wife were chatting to the Regional Governor and his daughter. Several ISO Councillors were engaged in lively debate on a topic that clearly held their interest. A bevy of middle-aged women conspired near the conservatory, while domestic and security staff went about their business on the fringes.  
  
The Chief of the Army waved to Anderson and beckoned, and we stepped forward and into the crowd, taking Al and Shay with us.  
  
Over the next half hour, the great ballroom filled. The string quartet bent to its collective task with enthusiasm, and the waiters picked up the pace. Security staff lurked in the shadows. I began to suspect that my face was going to freeze into a smile that would only ease up when I eventually removed my makeup and possibly slapped myself a few times. I lost count of the number of people I shook hands with - "My daughter Princess," Anderson would say. Invariably, the politician, official (spy?) or socialite to whom I was being introduced would smile and ask what I did, where I was studying and what I thought of the ball. I wondered if I'd still be saying it in my sleep that night: "I'm studying engineering at Brewer and I'm a G-Sec cadet trainee. Yes, it's lovely, isn't it?" and variations on the theme. While all this was going on, the tiny comm unit in my earring buzzed with Zark's on-going commentary as the robot interpreted the data being picked up and transmitted by my bracelet.  
  
_"Standard stuff,"_ Zark would report. _"Phones, appropriate security and encryption measures. Nothing out of the ordinary."_  
  
The President and the First Lady made their grand entrance and immediately became the centre of attention.  
  
I greeted the Lady Mayoress of Center City with genuine warmth and was swept up into a perfumed hug. Danielle MacNamara remembered me from the Firedrake rescue. "It's so wonderful to see you again!" she said. She glanced around, leaned in and lowered her voice. "You're not... on a mission, are you?" she whispered, alarmed.  
  
I laughed and fell back on my cover story. "Of course not! It's study break at the Academy and I'm completing my Liaison and Protocol training unit as part of my G-Sec training. Dad brought me along so I could have a learning experience... and keep the single ladies off his case!" I added with a giggle.  
  
My communicator hissed with the sound of a channel opening. I heard Mark's voice say, _"G-1, commencing external sensor placement."_ Technically, the placement of external sensors wasn't part of my primary mission, but it would give Zark much better access to the goings-on at the Embassy. Technically it was also illegal, undiplomatic and probably a whole bunch of things that would upset the Rigans if they knew about it. We were going ahead with it anyway. What's the point in working for a spy agency if you don't take the opportunity to go spying, right?  
  
As instructed, I made a point of spending about five minutes with Madame Irazi. Al waited patiently at my elbow like a chaperone, having exchanged a few polite words with the Ambassador's wife. When it was time to go, we disappeared into the crowd, leaving the redoubtable Madame Irazi in the centre of a sea of people all wanting to speak with her.  
  
Chief Anderson and Shay were in a quiet spot next to an open doorway. Anderson was finishing a conversation with Stanley Claybourne. Secretary Claybourne smiled indulgently at me as I approached. "I hope you're enjoying the party, my dear," he said.  
  
"Thank you, sir, I am," I said.  
  
"I'd better go and talk with Admiral Nagarajan," Claybourne said with a sigh. "She's been trying to get my attention all evening. No doubt she wants to bend my ear about funding for the new Arcturan space dock." He turned and made his way through the crowd, his bodyguards trailing more or less unobtrusively behind him.  
  
"Time for me to go to work," I said.  
  
"Yes," Anderson agreed. "Slip away as soon as you can." His head moved as he noticed an attractive woman with light brown hair and an expression like thunder making a beeline toward us. "Oh, no, not her," he groaned.  
  
"Evasive action, sir?" Al put her glass of water down on a nearby table.  
  
"Immediate, Colonel." Anderson swept Al onto the dance floor.  
  
I watched them go. It looked like fun, but of course I wasn't there to have fun. The approaching woman's momentum had carried her up to me. She folded her arms and glared in the direction of Chief Anderson. I wondered if it would be rude to ignore the spokesperson for the Galactic Peace Army, but I figured that if anyone was going to sabotage the war effort, this individual would have to be on the list of suspects. Come to think of it, I hadn't seen her name on the official guest list. At least not the copy I'd been given. I took a breath and fixed a smile in place. "Good evening, Ms Inglewood," I said. "Were you looking for my father?"  
  
The woman turned to face me and I held out a hand, bringing her within range of the scanning device in my bracelet. "Princess Anderson," I said.  
  
"Karen Inglewood," the woman replied. "But you knew that." She looked me up and down as though she'd just found me on the sole of her shoe. "I suppose I'd be wasting my breath talking to him anyway," she said, nodding in Chief Anderson's direction.  
  
"Your members threw eggs at him at the Space Piracy Conference," I reminded her. "I've always wondered," I ventured. "Why 'peace army'? Isn't that a bit... contradictory?"  
  
" _Ironic_. We were going for irony."  
  
"Oh, I see. Well you certainly achieved that."  
  
" _She's clean, Princess_ ," 7-Zark-7 reported.  
  
I decided to make my escape. "I'll tell my father you were looking for him," I said.  
  
Karen Inglewood uttered a small contemptuous snort. "I think he knows," she said, and stalked back into the crowd.  
  
"That woman is crazy," I muttered. "And what's a radical anti-war activist doing at an event like this anyway?"  
  
_"It's Unity Day,"_ Zark said. _"Unity Day put an end to all intraplanetary war on Riga. She was a last-minute addition to the guest list. Maybe the Ambassador's trying to promote peace and harmony."_  
  
"More irony," I said. I could see Karen Inglewood berating Air Marshall Lynch. "We've scanned most of the guests by now, right?"  
  
_"Yes. Nobody seems to be carrying any suspicious transmitters."_  
  
"Okay," I said. "Time for me to go and place some suspicious transmitters of my own."  
  
_"Be careful, Princess,"_ Zark said.  
  
_"I second that,"_ I heard Mark say. _"Stay safe."_  
  
I gradually backed out of the doorway and into a hallway. I dodged staff, ready to ask directions to the nearest rest room if anyone saw me, and made it undetected to a service corridor.  
  
_"Take the next door to your right,"_ Zark told me, his voice sounding scratchy and metallic through the tiny speaker in my earring. _"You should find a service duct with a distribution frame approximately twenty metres from the turning."_  
  
I located the duct, sealed off with a simple wooden door and secured with a deadlock. "Got it, Zark," I said. I fished in the genuine left hand pocket of my skirt and withdrew an electronic skeleton key. I inserted the probe in the lock and activated it. After a moment, I was rewarded with a soft _clunk!_ I put the key back in my pocket and eased one of the tiny data transmitters out of my bracelet the way Al had shown me. It attached itself to the wiring on the distribution frame when I pressed it home. "You should be getting a data squirt any nanosecond, Zark," I said  
  
_"Affirmative,"_ the robot's voice came back. _"So far, so good."_  
  
  
  
I crept through the Embassy with Zark guiding me, avoiding surveillance cameras - most of which Zark was able to hack, thanks to my initial placement of a device within the comms network - and keeping out of sight of staff members. I placed four more of the tiny transfer devices – keeping one in reserve as instructed – while Zark patched into the network of signal boosters Mark was placing around the Embassy perimeter. The small devices augmented Zark’s existing satellite and ground based surveillance systems to the point where he was able to interpret and create an electromagnetic topographical "map" of the Embassy grounds.  
  
Zark was then able to combine his map with the data from my tap into the Rigan Embassy communications system as well as the information he already had access to: security personnel numbers and movement, registered equipment and prior scans of the area.  
  
While Zark put his busy little processors to work, I returned to the party and did my best to look all innocent and eager to learn about diplomacy and stuff. I was feeling pretty pleased with myself. After all, I'd successfully completed my task and avoided being arrested by angry Rigans.  
  
"Excuse me," a voice said at my elbow. "I wonder if I could get a photo?" I turned around and found myself staring into a camera lens. Horrified, I blocked the lens with one hand.  
  
"I'm sorry, who are you?" I asked.  
  
The lens lowered, revealing a friendly open face topped with sandy hair. "Sorry. Brendan Squires. _Center City Morning Herald_." He fumbled at the lanyard around his neck and waved a press card. "I'm taking photos for the social pages." He blushed. "You know, you must be the prettiest girl here."  
  
Oh, great. Anderson was going to have this guy for breakfast and he wasn't even going to bother to spit out the bones.  
  
"Please don't take my picture," I said. "I value my privacy." Under Federal privacy laws, that should have been enough to see him off.  
  
"You're kidding," he said. "A face like yours, you could -"  
  
"I don't want my picture taken," I said, attempting to inject that don't-mess-with-me tone that Al used into my voice.  
  
It must have worked, as the photographer looked crestfallen and disappeared back into the crowd. Take that, Mister Reporter. Princess Anderson is officially _not_ a pushover!  
  
I made my triumphant return to Anderson's side. "Well done," he said.  
  
"Thanks," I replied.  
  
Air Marshall Lynch walked over to us, flanked by his security details. "That damned Inglewood woman isn't anywhere near here, is she?" he demanded.  
  
"She's bending Ambassador Irazi's ear," Anderson said. "He's trying to turn on the charm, but she seems to be immune. He's a braver man than I am."  
  
"Brave?" Toby Lynch snorted and snagged a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. "Whatever's motivating him to try and win that harridan over, it isn't courage. I think we both know what it is. Oh, pardon me, Miss Anderson. Didn't see you there."  
  
"It's quite all right, sir," I said. "It does explain how she got on the guest list."  
  
The Chief of Staff of the Air Force had the grace to look embarrassed. "They grow up so fast," he said to Anderson.  
  
Al handed me a glass of sparkling water. "Now you get to enjoy the party, I suppose," she said. "Go easy on the bubbly though, won't you, now?"  
  
"I'll stick to the soft stuff," I promised. To be honest, I preferred water to champagne anyway.  
  
Two men in the blood-red uniform tunics of the Rigan military were approaching us. I was used to seeing the Red Rangers, who turned arrogant condescension into an art form, but these two were something altogether different. For starters they weren't wearing flying helmets or tall black pirate boots but Rigan military dress reds. Then there was the fact that unlike the Red Rangers, these two were... well, they were eye candy to the max despite being easily twice my age. Not that they could compete with Mark, of course, but still as Shay liked to say, ‘ _Ain’t no harm lookin’ at the menu, as long as y’all go home for dinner_.’  
  
Both of them were almost heroic in their proportions with broad shoulders and chests to match. The one in front was slightly lighter in build than his companion and had dark smouldering movie-star looks. I recognised him from my briefing notes as Ambassador Irazi's deputy Ranos Elgar, the Rigan _Minister-Counselor_. His companion could have made a fortune as a Nordic ski instructor to the rich.  
  
"Who's the big blonde?" I whispered to Al.  
  
"Lieutenant Colonel Polus Garrett," Al said softly. "Head of Embassy Security."  
  
"Does Rigan Security do a wall calendar?" I asked. "Because I'd totally buy one. Or three."  
  
"Smile," Al said. "Don't drool, dear."  
  
I smiled. I did not drool. The Rigans greeted Chief Anderson and Air Marshall Lynch, asked me how I was enjoying the party and turned on a pair of devastating smiles.  
  
When Al made to shake hands with the _Minister-Counselor_ he took her proffered hand, bowed over it and kissed it. "The lovely Alberta," he said in honeyed tones. "How good to see you. I trust our little soiree has been everything you hoped for."  
  
"Madame Irazi's parties never disappoint, Ranos," Al said, smiling.  
  
"Would you care to dance?" the Rigan asked. Without waiting for an answer, he led her onto the dance floor. I couldn't hear the conversation and realised Al must have deactivated her comm. Chief Anderson had noticed, too, and was glaring at Al. She either didn't notice or pretended not to because she didn't reactivate the comm unit.  
  
"Chief Anderson," Colonel Garrett said. "You're aware that lately my government has adopted a policy of... autonomy, when it comes to intelligence. I'd like to assure you that this policy does not impact on the will of our armed services to assist the Federation in times of need."  
  
Anderson nodded, his expression betraying nothing. "We've always had a close relationship between the services," he said. "I appreciate the sentiment."  
  
I listened very carefully to what wasn't being said. At least now I knew who hadn't asked for our help.  
  
Out on the dance floor, the Rigan _Minister-Counselor_ was dancing and talking. He looked as though he was being charming, but Al was keeping him at arm's length - quite literally. "Excuse me," Colonel Garrett said and strode on to the dance floor to cut in.  
  
"What the hell...?" Chief Anderson muttered.  
  
"Don't look at me," I said.  
  
Ranos Elgar stood aside for Colonel Garrett with apparent bad grace.  
  
Al relaxed and danced with her new partner. It seemed they were old friends from the way they smiled and talked. Chief Anderson folded his arms and frowned. "Zark," he said very softly. "Run full background checks on Ranos Elgar and Polus Garrett, both Rigan Embassy staffers. I want to know what I'm dealing with."  
  
"I can give you the short version," Shay said. "Garrett's okay. He's a loyal Rigan but you can probably guess from the last name that there's at least one Earth relative in the family. Elgar - no relation to the composer, by the way - is a Rigan loyalist through and through. He resents the way the Federation cut Riga loose and to be honest, it's hard to blame him. He hates Zoltar, though. If I know him, that little show of his on the dance floor was probably just him reminding Al that the Embassy is Rigan sovereign territory."  
  
"And Garrett's little show on the dance floor?" Anderson prompted.  
  
Shay shrugged. "He likes to dance."  
  
As the music ended, Garrett playfully dipped Al, who laughed and then allowed herself to be returned to our little corner of the party.  
  
"Thanks for the rescue," Al was saying.  
  
"Any time, Alberta," Garrett quipped. "That's two you owe me, now."  
  
"Keeping count, are we?" Al countered.  
  
"I could make it three," Garrett said, and leaned in close to whisper something in Al's ear.  
  
"I thought as much," Al said and turned away.  
  
Colonel Garrett bowed and left us. Zark opened a comm channel to tell us that he couldn't find anything untoward in the records relating to either of our Rigans. _"If there's a mole at the Rigan Embassy, it could be anyone,"_ Zark added. Thank you, Captain Obvious. Anyone with access to a building could plant a data collection or transfer device as I'd just demonstrated.  
  
Which was when the party took a downhill turn.  
  
Ambassador Irazi, resplendent in his red parade uniform with enough gold braid to choke a horse, was making a stately procession through the crowd. Everyone made way for him and even President Kane and the First Lady inclined their heads a fraction to acknowledge his precedence on his own turf.  
  
He was, I realised belatedly, heading straight for us.  
  
And he had Karen Inglewood on his arm.  
  
I heard Chief Anderson say a very bad word under his breath. I froze for a second, but didn't react beyond that. I'd never really heard him swear before.  
  
Not that I didn't second the sentiment.  
  
Ambassador Irazi made the introductions. Chief Anderson was frostily polite while Karen Inglewood looked as smug as the cat that had not only eaten the canary but managed to frame the dog for murder.  
  
When Karen Inglewood spoke it was like a general announcement with her voice pitched to carry: "What you military types can't see through your blinkers is that _love_ is the answer!"  
  
Anderson appeared to consider the statement for a couple of seconds. "What was the _question_?" he asked her.  
  
Inglewood glared, her champagne flute poised. "Love is the answer to virtually every problem facing humanity," she said with exaggerated patience.  
  
I could see Anderson running a number of responses through his head before he settled on, "I'm afraid I find that more than just a little simplistic, Ms Inglewood," he said.  
  
With the impassioned determination of a woman who harbours true convictions, Karen Inglewood persisted. "It's all about how you perceive things. You divide the galaxy into 'Them' and 'Us.' You hate Spectrans."  
  
"Not really," Anderson said. "It's not about Spectrans in particular. I'll go to war with _anybody_ who tries to invade my planet on a regular basis."  
  
"Have you ever tried seeing the situation from their point of view?" she demanded.  
  
"You mean, though a set of cross-hairs?" Anderson parried, clearly running out of patience. I saw Al take a breath, ready to step in and attempt to defuse the diplomatic time bomb that was the Chief of Galaxy Security losing his temper.  
  
"You don't get it, do you?" Inglewood demanded. "We need to love our enemies!"  
  
Anderson changed tack to try for outright provocation: "So, you're suggesting that the next time a giant flying silverfish armed with missiles and laser cannons turns up over one of our cities and starts vaporising people, we should send flowers and see if they're open to the idea of dinner and a movie?"  
  
"You're impossible!" Karen Inglewood cried. "You think that you can brush aside the slaughter of innocent people with a few glib remarks! Well let me tell you something: while you sit there in your plush office, families are being ripped apart! Children are being orphaned! Homes destroyed!" Inglewood's tone and volume were both rising, and it was Madame Irazi who appeared at my elbow and saved the day.  
  
"My dears," she said, "are you discussing politics? I do wish you wouldn't argue, on Unity Day of all days! My dear Ms Inglewood, I've been wanting to talk with you all evening!" Karen Inglewood was swept away on a tide of impeccable manners.  
  
Then things went from bad to worse.  
  
"Elsa Lannigan, _Center City Morning Herald_!" exclaimed a tall, thin woman wearing a mass of pink chiffon. "Tell me, Chief Anderson, how you reconcile your work with the need to educate your children as citizens of the Intergalactic Federation of _Peaceful_ Planets?"  
  
Anderson stared at the woman for a long moment. "My children," he said in measured tones, "have the same education as other citizens. They go to accredited schools and the best thing I can do for them is teach them the value of independent thinking. They're entitled - and encouraged - to form their own opinions. Wouldn't you say that all children should be allowed to do that, Ms... Lannigan?"  
  
A flashbulp popped and I realised that the young man who'd approached me earlier in the evening was hovering with his camera.  
  
"I understand your daughter is a Galaxy Security trainee," the reporter persisted. "How do you respond to allegations of nepotism?"  
  
"I haven't heard any," Anderson said. "Are there any actual allegations of nepotism?"  
  
"Well, no, but you must admit that it looks as though you're playing favourites."  
  
"Ms Lannigan," Anderson said, "my children aren't special because I adopted them. I adopted them because they all have outstanding potential and didn't have the opportunity to develop it where they were. My daughter's ISO entry application and academic records speak for themselves. Perhaps you should do your research, the way any competent journalist would."  
  
And then, things went from worse to... worser. Is that even a word? They didn't get _worst_. That was still to come.  
  
My comm activated. _"Seven Zark Seven, calling Princess."_  
  
"Ears on," I replied under my breath.  
  
_"My sensors are detecting an idiosyncratic spike in electromagnetic energy coming from somewhere in the vicinity of the conservatory, just behind the main ballroom. I have no way of telling exactly what it might be, but it's taking data from the Rigan infrastructure and then appears to be bypassing it. I suppose it could be some kind of secret equivalent of our Conway Tapes, but it seems anomalous. Maybe you should check it out."_  
  
Anderson was still trying to fend the journalist off and Al was trying to get a word in edgewise, talking about issuing statements and calling the ISO PR Office.  
  
I made a decision and ducked out of the ballroom then headed toward the conservatory.  
  
And ran straight into Rigan Security.  
  
The gorgeous Colonel Garrett was talking with two young lieutenants - a man and a woman - both resplendent in their dress reds. Garrett turned to me. "Can I help you, Miss Anderson?"  
  
"Yes!' I said, and went straight into my damsel-in-distress routine. "My dad's being harassed by some awful reporter! She won't leave him alone! It's horrible! She's ruining the whole party!" I thought hard about orphaned kittens and managed to squeeze moisture out of my eyes.  
  
Garrett motioned to the two security officers. "See to it," he ordered. The two lieutenants hurried into the ballroom, leaving me with one last obstacle. How in the galaxy was I going to get past Garrett?  
  
"Well?" he prompted.  
  
"Well... what?" I parried.  
  
"Your father's more than capable of taking care of an annoying reporter," Garrett said.  
  
I decided to go with the direct approach. "Do you want your information leak found, or don't you?"  
  
Garrett's smile could have sold magazines by the hundred. "Lead the way," he said.  
  
Colonel Garrett followed me into the depths of the conservatory.  
  
I looked around and shuddered. The light was dim, the air was humid and smelled of fertiliser with a tinge of iodine. "Is it a mandatory requirement for places with ballrooms to have big glass rooms full of plants?" I wondered aloud. "There are nearly always bugs in these places."  
  
"I thought that was what you were looking for," Garrett said.  
  
"Not electronic bugs," I said. "The other kind of bugs." I wiggled my fingers to mimic crawling legs.  
  
"Oh. That kind of bug."  
  
"I hate bugs." I cast a cautious glance around at all the orchids and cycads, just waiting for something with lots of tiny legs to drop from the ceiling. "It's warm in here," I observed.  
  
"That's the general idea for a conservatory," Garrett pointed out.  
  
I opened a comm channel. "Zark?" I prompted.  
  
_"Ahead six metres, then to your left,"_ Zark directed.  
  
I glanced at Garrett. "This way."  
  
My commset clicked. _"Princess,"_ Mark said, _"What are you doing?"_  
  
"Trusting the Rigans, Commander," I replied softly. "Remind you of anyone?"  
  
_"Be careful,"_ Mark said.  
  
Zark's directions led me to a large ornate raised planter of palms and ferns. In the low light I could easily make out detail with my cerebonically boosted sight. I removed the last of my data transfer devices and placed it in the planter.  
  
_"I'm getting readings,"_ Zark told me. _"There's something gathering a significant amount of information in there,"_ he concluded.  
  
"Zark says there's a device in here collecting data from your network," I told Garrett. "Is it yours?"  
  
Garrett shook his head. "No." He gripped the edge of the planter with both hands. "Can you analyse it?"  
  
I peered into the mass of fronds, then brushed at the soil and found a smooth, cylindrical shape just under the surface. At first sight it appeared to be an irrigation pipe, but then I noticed the power conduit which led to the feature palm that towered over the ferns. "This plant," I said to Garrett, "is a plant." I ran my hand up the rough artificial surface, feeling for a catch or a seam. "I wonder if I can open it up and take a look?" Something tickled my right hand and I glanced down. My reaction was purely instinctive. I gasped and jumped, prompting the large, hairy spider to rear up and wave its palps at me.  
  
"What is it?" Garrett hissed.  
  
"A spider," I said as steadily as I could manage. "It's probably harmless. Sorry. It startled me." My heart was pounding. I hate spiders.  
  
Gallantly, Colonel Garrett found a dead leaf and used it to gently push the outraged arachnid back into the planter.  
  
I got back to work and heard a comm channel open. _"Seven Zark Seven calling Security Chief Anderson. Please respond."_  
  
_"Have you found something?"_ Anderson asked.  
  
_"Yes, sir,"_ Zark said. _"I'm progressing with my analysis of the device Princess found in the conservatory. Part of the device appears to be a data library. It collects and stores data -- a lot of it. I'm copying its memory and so far I've downloaded information on personnel, intelligence and even private file notes from the Ambassador about meetings he's had with you regarding military aid to Riga. He doesn't like you very much, sir."_  
  
_"I'm crushed. Get to the point."_  
  
_"The other part of the device is part of something bigger. I don't know where or what the other components are, but if activated, I'm afraid it could form part of one of Zoltar's monster machines! I'm working my sensors down to the etched circuit boards trying to figure out just what it does!"_  
  
_"Keep hacking its system,"_ Anderson ordered. _"Find the rest of whatever it is. Do it fast."_  
  
_"Big ten, Chief!"_  
  
I relayed the general gist of the conversation to Colonel Garrett.  
  
"I may have to evacuate the Embassy!" he said, clearly alarmed.  
  
"Not if I can shut this thing down before anyone gets a chance to use it!" I told him. I stopped and looked up at him. "It's your embassy, Colonel. You have the right to tell me to haul my butt out of here and deal with this yourself."  
  
"You appear to have... considerable expertise," he observed.  
  
I snorted. "I bet you say that to all the girls," I said.  
  
He took a reflexive step back and I could have sworn I saw him blush. It was probably the age thing.  
  
"Madam Irazi instructed me earlier to give you every assistance should you require it," he said. "She thinks very highly of you. I think you should continue to work on this... device while I tell the Ambassador that there's been a security breach. I'll leave Galaxy Security out of it, but if you see any of my staff you'll have to hide or account for your presence. Technically... well, _actually_ , you're a spy on foreign soil."  
  
"Yeah, I got the memo," I said. "Do what you have to do, Colonel."  
  
My comm hissed again as Garrett hurried away. _"I'm coming in,"_ Mark said. He closed the channel before I could protest and I really didn't have time to argue.  
  
Comm traffic picked up as Anderson cautioned Mark against discovery and then had a brief but intense conversation with Colonel Garrett which I only really heard one side of. I tried to ignore it and focussed on my fake indoor plant. It appeared to be some kind of control unit with multiple interface slots positioned under the bark covering, which fell away easily once I had the first panel open. Whatever it was, it was designed to fit together with a lot of other components.  
  
I heard Anderson order Al to talk to the President's security detail and get them gone. When one of the glass doors at the far end of the conservatory swung open I ducked down out of sight. A shadow seemed to flit into the big room and melt into the background as insubstantial as smoke.  
  
"Princess?" the shadow whispered.  
  
"Over here, Mark," I said. He padded over on silent feet and joined me at the planter. He was still wearing his G-Sec day uniform. "It's definitely some kind of control module," I told him.  
  
_"I concur,"_ Zark agreed over the comm channel.  
  
"The question," Mark said, "is what exactly does it control?"  
  
"Zark," I asked, "have you been able to analyse the software in this thing?"  
  
" _Another few seconds_ ," Zark promised.  
  
"Knowing Zoltar," Mark predicted darkly, "the whole building'll turn into a giant pineapple or something."  
  
I held up a hand for quiet. I could hear voices in the lobby and I was getting some of it in stereo via the comm. The Rigan _Minister-Counselor_ was apologising to Chief Anderson and insisting that nothing was wrong, nothing had ever been wrong, and if ever anything did turn out to be wrong - which it wouldn't - the Rigans would handle it. For their part, Anderson and Jones were doing their best to be difficult and were succeeding. Ranos Elgar was trying like a frustrated trainee sheepdog to herd everyone back into the ballroom, and was failing.  
  
"What's going on out there?" Mark asked _sotto voce_.  
  
I provided a brief recap: "Colonel Garrett - one of the good guys - is trying to convince the Ambassador to evacuate the Embassy. _Minister-Counselor_ Elgar - who is also one of the good guys but not a big fan of the Federation - is doing the classic diplomatic cover-up thing and it sounds like the Chief is running interference so that Colonel Garrett can get some quality time with the Ambassador without _Minister-Counselor_ Elgar presenting an opposing argument."  
  
"I can't blame the Rigans for wanting to stake out their home turf," Mark said. "Still wish they'd be a little more cooperative, though."  
  
"I hear that," I said. "Hey, Zark, how's it going?"  
  
_"I'm sorry, Princess,"_ Zark said. _"I'm having trouble getting through the security on this thing. I think it may require a manual interface. If you can physically attach the data transfer device to the control unit, I might be able to get past the encryption."_  
  
"Okay," I said, and started to look in the planter for where I'd dropped the data transfer device. My fingers brushed metal and I picked the device up between my thumb and forefinger.  
  
That was when things got... interesting.  
  
I heard footsteps and looked up to see the outline of the very well-proportioned Colonel Garrett heading towards us.  
  
Mark reacted instantly by grabbing me and kissing me - hard - on the mouth.  
  
I reacted by squeaking and doing absolutely nothing to stop him.  
  
Which isn't quite as damning as it sounds because in my head, there was a full scale debate going on.  
  
Mark was kissing me!  
  
_Mark_ was kissing me!  
  
Mark was _kissing me_!  
  
And while I wasn't averse to the idea at all, I was supposed to be in charge of this part of the op.  
  
Which meant that I was on duty.  
  
Also, there was a - presumably - Spectran device not two feet away.  
  
And my comm channel was open, which meant every member of the team could hear what was going on.  
  
And Mark was kissing me.  
  
Duty won out and I pushed him away. Eventually. "Is this really the time?" I gasped. After all, I'd had my breathing somewhat restricted for... a while.  
  
Mark seemed torn between embarrassment and indignation. "Rigan security's here!" he hissed. "I was trying... I mean... "  
  
I sagged against the planter as Garrett strolled up to us, taking his time and clearly giving us a minute to work things out. "Colonel _Garrett_ ," I said, "who I was just telling you about, is aware of my presence here. Colonel Garrett, meet Comm – I mean, Lieutenant Colonel Hawking, who was providing me with an alibi for being in the conservatory."  
  
Mark looked up... and up. Garrett was easily as tall as Colonel Cronus, who had towered over all of us. "Uh..." Mark said, then appeared to remember that he was the G-Force Commander, held the rank of Lieutenant Colonel that went with being the G-Force Commander and was wearing a G-Sec uniform with the rank insignia of a Lieutenant Colonel which meant that certain standards of politeness applied. "Colonel," he said, extending a hand.  
  
"Colonel," Garrett replied and the two of them followed protocol and shook hands.  
  
Which was when things got worse... er. More worse. Again.  
  
_"Uh, Princess,"_ Zark said, _"I think I may have accidentally triggered some kind of security failsafe. I'm getting some high level readings from the control unit. It’s just transmitted some kind of command signal."_  
  
Oh, crud.  
  
I went very still and chills ran up my spine as I heard a kind of whispery noise. The kind of whispery noise made by lots and lots and _lots_ of tiny little legs.  
  
"I'd like to leave now," I whimpered.  
  
Mark had heard it too, but it must have been beyond normal hearing range because Garrett just looked blank.  
  
"There's something headed this way," Mark said. "Lots of somethings. Lots of really small somethings."  
  
"Which is why I'm leaving right now!" I declared. I jammed the data collection device into the side of the fake palm and took to my heels.  
  
I hate spiders. And ants. And all kind of things with multiple legs and eyes and... stuff. I know it's silly, especially when you consider what I'll gladly deal with in the course of a day at the figurative office. I'll dodge any number of bullets, beams, armed assailants, unarmed assailants, bladed weapons, projectiles - you name it, I'll deal with it. But do not ask me to deal with spiders. Ever.  
  
Because _spiders_. That's why.  
  
Everyone has their Achilles heel. Creepies and crawlies are mine.  
  
Evidently Mark and Garrett must have come to the conclusion that discretion was the better part of valour when it came to lots and lots of tiny little legs because they weren't far behind me.  
  
Chief Anderson, Al, Shay and the Rigan _Minister-Counselor_ turned and stared at me as I ran out of the conservatory and skidded to a halt.  
  
"You know you really ought to get a pest controller in there," I said. "I mean, seriously. You've got a real problem."  
  
"We have a problem," Garrett announced as he stopped by my left elbow.  
  
"I know!" I exclaimed.  
  
I saw Al's eyes widen, then Shay's, then I saw Chief Anderson's jaw tighten up in that particular way that meant he was not happy.  
  
"If I turn around," I ventured, "am I going to scream?"  
  
"Yes," Shay said. "Yes you are. And while you're doing it, I may just join you."  
  
"No screaming on duty, please," Al said, and while she wasn't screaming, I noticed she'd gone quite pale.  
  
"Oh, crud," I heard Mark say.  
  
"You turned around, didn't you?" I said without looking at him.  
  
"Pretty much," Mark said.  
  
"I'm going to evacuate the Embassy," Garrett declared. "Ranos, you -"  
  
"- Go and inform His Excellency," Ranos Elgar said. "Yes, I'm on my way." He hurried to the ballroom.  
  
"How loud a scream is it going to be if I turn around?" I asked.  
  
"If it's any comfort," Al said, "they're heading away from us." She had twisted around to examining the folds at the back of her skirt. I hoped she wasn’t looking for a spider.  
  
I turned around. There were spiders - hundreds of spiders - swarming into the conservatory. I don't think I'd ever been so glad to not be in a room that wasn't actually in the process of exploding.  
  
I found I didn't really have enough breath for the kind of scream that would have been appropriate. "Oh, crud," I said instead.  
  
"And you," Anderson said, turning on Al, "should be aware that your dance partner planted some kind of device on your dress!"  
  
"Yes, I know," Al said. She continued to fish around in the draperies of her skirt near her left hip. "Ranos Elgar was never that interested in my derriere and when his hands started wandering it was obvious what he was up to. Besides, he opened the conversation with, 'the lovely Alberta.' How insincere can you get? I just had to wait for a moment when nobody was watching to get hold of it. Or I could have asked you to help conduct a search of my petticoats," she added. Al found what she was looking for and held a tiny metallic object up to the light.  
  
"Looks like a standard issue Rigan bug," I opined, then winced in sympathy as Al dropped it on the floor and crushed it under her heel. "That's going to give someone a headache," I said.  
  
"Then they shouldn't plant listening devices in other people's clothing," Al said. She stopped, head tilted slightly as Zark spoke over our comms network to let us know that the President was away. "Right," Al said and drew her sidearm. She checked the clip and stalked cautiously toward the door of the conservatory. "Zark," she said, "I'm all for ambiance but is there any chance you can organise a spot of lighting, please?"  
  
_"Of course. Just give me one moment,"_ Zark said and the lights came up in the conservatory.  
  
"You know," I said, "I would have been just as happy for that to stay in the dark."  
  
The spiders were converging on the palm I'd been investigating. The 'fronds' had fallen away and all those slots I'd been wondering about had been filled. With spiders. Spiders upon spiders upon spiders were interlocking around the central control unit and they were adding up to a whole lot of nasty.  
  
Anderson's voice took on that strained quality that it did sometimes. "Can we possibly get past the _resemblance_ of these machines to spiders and treat them as enemy mechs?" he snarled.  
  
"Sure!" Shay declared and opened fire.  
  
Metal and travertine flew. With the exception of Shay, we threw up our arms and retreated as shrapnel hit the glass panelling in the French doors and shattered them.  
  
When Shay stopped shooting, there were bits of mechanical spider, glass and expensive floor tiling scattered around the foyer.  
  
The spiders were ignoring the gunfire and continued to assemble in the conservatory.  
  
"I'm thinking explosives," Mark said as Rigan security officers rushed into the foyer and pointed their weapons at us.  
  
"I'm thinking diplomatic incident," Al replied, and put her hands up. "Major Alban has severe arachnophobia and a gun," she told the Rigans, who cast nervous glances from us to the spiders and back again.  
  
"I could actually accept that as a valid explanation," one of the officers said, and edged slightly away from the conservatory. A kindred spirit, no doubt.  
  
"By all that's -" Colonel Garrett ran in from the ballroom. "I leave you alone for five minutes..." He took a deep breath and addressed his people. "The enemy is that way," he said, pointing in the direction of the conservatory. "These people are our allies." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Shay, was that you doing the shooting?"  
  
"It's _Major Alban_ when I'm on duty," Shay said, "and yes it was."  
  
Colonel Garrett stared at the wreckage of the floor. "I always thought you had better aim."  
  
"Small targets," Shay said. "With the calibre I'm using, collateral damage is inevitable."  
  
Garrett took a deep breath and turned his attention to the ceiling instead. "Shay - I mean, Major... Never mind." He turned to his staff. "Please assist with the evacuation. The G-Sec personnel are with me."  
  
“Chief,” Shay said to Anderson, "we should get you out of here."  
  
"Not just yet," Anderson said. "Colonel Garrett, would you like to request our assistance?"  
  
Garrett rounded on Anderson and seemed about to say something - probably about my interference being responsible for activating the Spectran device - but got himself under control and recovered his aplomb in under a second. "Yes, Chief Anderson. I am requesting Federation assistance under the terms of our treaty."  
  
"Excuse me just one moment," Anderson said and took a few steps toward the ballroom. "Zark," he said, "scramble G-Force and have them meet me here. Mark, meet the _Phoenix_ when it lands and see to the team's disposition on the ground."  
  
"Yes, sir!" Mark executed a textbook salute and ran from the foyer. I nearly followed him, then remembered that I was undercover.  
  
There was a soft hiss in my ear as Zark hooked our comms up with the G-Force network.  
  
_"So we get to join the party, huh?"_ Tiny remarked.  
  
_"Better remember to wipe our feet and make nice with our hosts,"_ Jason quipped.  
  
_"Meet me in the Embassy grounds,"_ Mark ordered. _"There's room for the_ Phoenix _to land on the lawn. Follow my signal and fly tight, Tiny. All jokes aside, we're on foreign soil at the request of the Rigans. Keep that in mind, all of you."_  
  
_"Aye-aye, Skipper,"_ Jason drawled. _"Um... hey, Mark?"_  
  
_"Yes, Jason?"_  
  
_"Are there any Red Rangers there tonight?"_  
  
_"Haven't seen any,"_ Mark said.  
  
_"Okay,"_ Jason said. _"I guess they don't let those jerks off the leash in polite company."_  
  
_"Cool it,"_ Mark said, but there was no heat in his tone, only resignation. I tended to agree with Jason. The Rangers were good at what they did, but all the arrogant swagger made them hard to like. They even made _my_ knuckles itch, and that's saying something.  
  
_"I'm getting an awful lot of returns on the scanner,"_ Keyop announced. _"Whatever you woke up in there, it's putting itself together fast."_  
  
"Yeah," I said, and stared in to the conservatory where piece by piece, the fake palm was growing like some kind of nightmare Lego set... into a giant spider. Each 'spider' that crawled into the conservatory was a component which would climb into place and attach itself with a click. "Those spiders must be individual data collection devices," I said, thinking aloud. "They must have been positioned throughout the Embassy, gathering intel until they received an activation code to form up and get the heck out of Dodge." I folded my arms. "Is it just me, or is this just way over the top theatrical as a delivery method? There have to be a hundred better ways of getting intel out of a building than turning a potted palm into a giant spider!"  
  
_"This is Zoltar we're dealing with here,"_ Jason reminded me. _"We're talking about a man who thinks that chasing a rally car across the African savannah with a spinning robot giraffe is a really neat idea."_  
  
"This is just so many kinds of wrong," I said.  
  
Which is kind of when things got worst.  
  
The first thing I noticed was that there weren't any more spiders skittering around on the floor. The second thing I noticed was that this was because they were all in the conservatory and had pretty much all linked hands to dance the hokey pokey - which, let's face it, when you have eight legs, is going to take quite some time. I mean, how would you even sing the words...? No. Not going there.  
  
The former palm rose up out of the planter. It looked to be about nine feet tall. I found the sleeve in my skirt and drew my yoyo. Stealth be damned. I wanted my weapon where I could use it.  
  
“Princess,” Anderson cautioned with a glance at the yoyo in my hand, “there are still friendlies in the building. I’d just as soon you didn’t bring down the roof until everyone’s clear.”  
  
Leg by leg, the spider stepped down out of the planter. It looked a little awkward as it did so which was when Shay and Al moved in and started firing. Sparks flew and bits of spider scattered and shattered, but the unit itself simply continued to step down to the floor. If one of the smaller spiders was knocked free of the construct, it would simply climb up and return to its spot. Once the big spider was out of the planter and on the tiles it was only about six feet tall, which was something of a relief, but not overly much. A six-foot spider is still a freakin' _six-foot spider_!  
  
Very slowly, managing its eight legs as though it was just getting used to having them, the spider turned around to face us.  
  
“Okay, Chief,” Shay said, “this is where we either evacuate on foot, or I toss you over my shoulder and carry you outa here.”  
  
“Do you _really_ want to go there, Major?” Anderson challenged. He had the advantage of height, reach and probably attitude, although with Shay, you could never be sure.  
  
“I have to admit,” Shay conceded, “the shoulder-tossing thing isn’t my preferred option, but you know me well enough by now to know that I’ll go there if I have to.”  
  
Al was firing at the spider’s optics. I watched bullets fly off the armoured head without making a dent. She stopped firing and glanced over her shoulder at Anderson. “If we were both to tackle you at the same time, sir,” she said, as though remarking on the weather, “we could probably overpower you.”  
  
I heard the high pitched whine of something powering up and saw a wicked-looking muzzle protrude from between the spider's palps.  
  
"Al!" Anderson leaped and tackled Al to the marble floor as a beam weapon discharged from the spider's mouth. The blast took out a painting on the wall behind where Al had been standing and masonry exploded outward. Anderson and Al slid about five feet and fetched up hard against a - thankfully - ordinary planter containing ordinary plants and out of the spider's line of vision. "I thought you said you had a healthy instinct for self-preservation," Anderson grumbled.  
  
"Touché," Al said weakly. "Now we're even." Anderson supported her as they both struggled to their feet amidst a tangle of fabric. I was pretty sure I heard something rip but the spider took all my attention as it moved into the doorway of the conservatory. Outside I heard the scream of jets turning into a familiar roar - the song of the _Phoenix_ touching down.  
  
"Everybody out!" I declared. "Get to the _Phoenix!_ "  
  
"What about you?" Shay asked. "You haven't got your battle gear!"  
  
"Let me worry about that," I told her. "You have a protection assignment and you have your orders."  
  
"Yes, ma'am." Shay said.  
  
"Before you go," I called. "Did you bring a spare sidearm?"  
  
"Don't I always?" Shay quipped. She reached into the voluminous folds of her skirt, withdrew a standard-issue service pistol and tossed it to me. "It's fully loaded." She fumbled around in her pockets again and lobbed over a spare clip. "Give 'em hell," she told me, and turned to help hustle Anderson out of the building.  
  
"Okay, ugly," I said to the spider. "Let's dance." I took aim at its feet - the second left one seemed like a good choice - and fired. The spider lurched and stumbled as anti-personnel rounds slammed into its right front foot and knocked components clear, but then a number of smaller spiders crawled down from its back to reinforce the leg. It lifted its head to angle the beam weapon at me and I ran for the ballroom.  
  
“Commander?” I called over my comm. “You got ears on?”  
  
_“The_ Phoenix _is landing,”_ Mark replied. _“We’ll be with you any minute.”_  
  
"The spider’s adapting to my attacks!" I said. "I could really use a hand in here.”  
  
_"Hang on, Princess,"_ Mark said over the comm. _"We’re on our way."_  
  
I tried firing off seemingly random shots at various points on the spider's body to see what would happen next. "There's got to be a critical point where you fall over," I snarled at it. "You’ve only got so many bits you can use." I took aim at the left front foot and discharged most of the clip. Again, the spider stumbled and repaired itself, but this time it straightened up and focussed its optics square on me. It shouldn't have been possible for robot spiders to emanate an air of grim annoyance, but I could find no other way of interpreting the way it looked. I heard the whine of its beam weapon powering up and ran for the ballroom.  
  
The ballroom was deserted. A drift of paper napkins fluttered as I passed and I waited for the spider to follow me. In here I'd have room to move and room to escape if I needed to. "Hey, Zark," I said. "How are you going with that software? Any chance you can hack Ugly's systems?"  
  
The spider lumbered into the ballroom and paced around in a slow circle, ignoring me now that I wasn’t shooting at it. It seemed to be looking for something. An escape route, maybe? It was likely, given that it was chock-full of stolen data that Zoltar would want.  
  
_"I'm sorry, Princess,"_ Zark replied. _"The spider seems to have ejected the data transfer device you planted on it. Either that or it was destroyed in the shooting."_  
  
"Great," I said. "But if I could get a hold of one of the others and attach it somehow, do you think you could talk it into self-destructing or something?"  
  
_"It's worth a try,"_ Zark said.  
  
"Agreed," Mark said from above me. I looked up to see Mark in his G-Force combat gear standing on the balustrade of the mezzanine.  
  
"Show off," I said fondly.  
  
Jason, Tiny and Keyop were keeping to the floor and leaned over the railing to get their first real-life look at our enemy.  
  
"You were right," Tiny told me. "That's all kinds of ugly."  
  
"Creepy, too," Keyop added.  
  
The spider began to walk toward the big glass doors that led out to the garden. I cringed. There was so much glass in this place! "It seems to want to leave," I said.  
  
"I hate giving Zoltar's pets what they want," Jason quipped, and glided down to the floor of the ballroom. He fired his cable gun, hooked the spider's rear right leg and hauled.  
  
The spider's foot simply broke apart and put itself back together again. The spider lifted its head and I yelled, "Get clear!"  
  
Jason leaped as the spider's beam weapon fired and a table loaded with drinks exploded in a shower of glass, ice and beverages.  
  
"It's got a temper," Keyop remarked as I reloaded the sidearm Shay had given me.  
  
"Yeah," I agreed. "I need you guys to keep it busy while I retrieve a data transfer device. Jason! Catch!" I threw him Shay's pistol. "Be back soon!" I ran up the stairs and headed for the _Minister-Counselor_ 's office. It would be empty, since the occupant was outside helping to oversee the evacuation and I'd stuck a data transfer device in back of his desk monitor wedged conveniently beside a data cable.  
  
I made it into the office and reached behind the monitor. There it was, right where I'd left it. For safekeeping, I slid it back inside the bracelet link on my wrist.  
  
And froze.  
  
I could hear Ranos Elgar's voice in the corridor, and it was getting closer.  
  
"- Don't know why it activated prematurely! All of this could have been avoided if you'd just listened to me! I warned you that Galaxy Security was suspicious but you refused to shut the units down! Now that damned fool Garrett has requested Anderson's assistance under the terms of the Treaty and the Embassy is crawling with G-Force members! I don't care how much extra data you might have collected. You'll take what you're given and you'll hold to our deal! You -"  
  
He opened the door and walked in to his office to see me standing there waiting for him. "I'll call you back," he said and terminated the call on his palm unit.  
  
"So you're the source of the leak," I said. "We can do this the easy way -"  
  
"I don't think so," Elgar said. "This is Rigan soil and you're just Daddy's little girl. You aren't even armed. I could take you down in under a minute."  
  
"You're welcome to try," I told him. "You won't be the first big guy with an ego who got beat up by a girl. You're under arrest."  
  
"I don't recognise your authority to act," he argued. "I have diplomatic immunity."  
  
"Not from your own government, you don't," I said. "You're guilty of treason, I'd say. If I remember correctly, that carries the death penalty on Riga, and since I’m here under the terms of the Cooperative Defence Treaty, technically I could kill you right here and now." It was a bit of a stretch, but it sounded suitably threatening.  
  
He pulled a gun from his jacket pocket and trained it on me. "Little girl," he said, "you don't talk that way to me without a weapon."  
  
"Seriously?" I asked him.  
  
"I don't particularly want to kill you," he said.  
  
"Oh, good," I said. "Should I put my hands behind my head and surrender, now?"  
  
"Why not?" he said, and smiled his million-dollar magazine cover smile.  
  
So I put my hands up behind my head, and my fingers brushed the little silver swans in my hair that were Shay's early birthday present.  
  
The knife slid out of its sheath as though it were oiled and flew straight and true straight into Ranos Elgar's right shoulder. He gasped in pain and the gun fell from his grasp. I was already whirling away from the gun and into striking range by the time the weapon hit the floor and I took a purely professional satisfaction in delivering a nice solid kick to his groin. He dropped like he'd been sandbagged and curled into the foetal position, whimpering. I found some tape in his desk drawer and used it to bind his wrists together. I ran out of tape at that point so I half frogmarched - half dragged him out of the office and down the stairs rather than leaving him unattended and bound.  
  
The ballroom looked like a disaster area. There were burn marks, areas of slag where the spider's beam weapon had hit glass and what had looked like very expensive furniture was now a lot of decorative kindling. The Waterford crystal chandelier - or rather, what was left of it - that had been a feature of the room was swinging perilously on one of its three support chains. There were bright pendants of crystal and blobs of melted glass on the floor underneath. There was also a hole melted in the stained glass panelling that went all the way to the ceiling from the tops of the glass doors.  
  
"I see you kept it busy," I said by way of greeting.  
  
"Oh, yeah," Mark said. "It's been a blast. Found your bad guy, huh?"  
  
"Speaking of blasts," Jason said, "it's let up on those. It might be running low on power."  
  
I dumped Ranos Elgar at Mark's feet and slid the data transfer device out of my bracelet. "We need to attach this to the spider," I said, "and before anyone asks, I'm volunteering to not be the one to do it."  
  
"Leave it to me!" Keyop ran up to me and grinned. "I'm the lightest and most agile member of the team. Also not scared of spiders!"  
  
"Commander?" I prompted.  
  
"Do it," Mark said.  
  
"Awesome!" Keyop pumped a fist in the air. "Gimme!" I handed over the transfer device and Keyop bounded toward the spider. "Woo-hoo! Spider rodeo!"  
  
Tiny provided covering fire while Keyop bounced onto the spider's back. "Ride 'em!" he yelled, pulled a spider free, threw it in the air where Jason shot it, and jammed the data transfer device into the vacant slot. He kept his hand in place as the spider swung around, trying to see what was on its back. Several of the smaller spiders reared up out of their slots and assumed threatening poses. Keyop just grinned.  
  
"Zark," I said, "are you getting data from the spider?"  
  
_"Yes,"_ Zark said. _"I'm in its operating system and I'm shutting it down."_  
  
Abruptly, all eight of the spider's legs folded up under it and it collapsed onto the ballroom floor.  
  
"What?" Keyop demanded indignantly. "Where's the 'kaboom'? There was supposed to be an earth-shattering 'kaboom!'" He unhooked his bolas from his belt and whirled them. "You want I should blow it up?"  
  
_"No,"_ Chief Anderson said over the comms. _"I think we should let it go."_  
  
"Say what now?" Jason asked.  
  
  
  
Ranos Elgar was still groaning when Colonel Garrett and his officers took delivery of him.  
  
"Aw c'mon, big guy," I said. "The little girl didn't kick you that hard, did she?"  
  
"Your 7-Zark-7 played a recording of your encounter with our _Minister-Counselor_ , Miss Anderson," Garrett said. "I'll be having a long talk with Mr Elgar."  
  
"Zoltar would have left us alone if he had Earth," Elgar mumbled.  
  
"Is that what he promised you?" Garrett asked. "You should know that Zoltar doesn't keep his promises." He nodded to me. "Let's go up to my office."  
  
  
  
Colonel Garrett spent a few minutes on a state of the art computer calling up a file and transmitting it - by way of conventional channels - to Zark. "False records, misleading intelligence, all of it designed to be sacrificed in the event we detected a security breach," he explained. "Zoltar will think he has legitimate intel, for a while at least."  
  
"Nice," I said. I heard Zark's voice over the comm and smiled. "Zark's managed to wipe the spider’s memory and he's uploading your fake files now."  
  
Garrett smiled and shut his computer down. "Thank you for all your assistance," he said. "Madame Irazi was right about you."  
  
"Thanks," I said. "I think."  
  
"It was a compliment," he assured me. He cleared his throat. "Miss Anderson, if it isn't inappropriate for me to ask... uh... Do you know if Shay's seeing anyone at the moment?"  
  
  
  
Glass shattered and a slightly the worse for wear mechanical spider rocketed through the wreckage, arcing skyward, the flames from its boosters leaving a bright trail on the retinas of those of us watching from the ground. Mark, Jason and Keyop trudged out of the main entrance of the Rigan embassy, seemingly dispirited at having lost their quarry. I saw a camera flash go off.  
  
I found Chief Anderson's party a short distance away next to the limousine which had been parked just off the long driveway. Hands in his pockets, Anderson leaned back against the rear fender of the vehicle and watched the spider disappear into the night sky. He was a mess and I realised his slide along the glass-and-shrapnel covered floor had taken a toll. His jacket and trousers were filthy and covered in tiny tears and there was a streak of dried blood in his hair. There was a dressing on the back of his right hand and I noticed Shay putting the first aid kit away in the trunk.  
  
"We're going to take a hit in the media for this one," Anderson predicted, "but it'll make the spider's escape seem more believable. If Zoltar decides to act on that intel, it'll put a real dent in his attempts to secure Planet Riga." He grimaced. "I should probably have told Zark to move the spider out of the ballroom before giving it the lift off command."  
  
"I must say, it was frightfully dramatic," Al said encouragingly. Her ash-blonde hair had come down, she had a bloodied cut on her left cheek, her left sleeve was ripped open revealing a collection of bandages, there was a smudge of soot on her face and her dress was a mess but she still managed to sound positively chipper.  
  
"I never liked all that stained glass anyway," Shay said. "It's so old fashioned."  
  
"We were due to redecorate," Garrett quipped. "And we'll probably hit Galaxy Security for the bill."  
  
"Great," Anderson sighed. "Have your lawyers talk to our lawyers."  
  
"It looked convincing," I said, "and you know how Zoltar's a sucker for theatrics."  
  
"I doubt the Ambassador's going to buy that line of argument," Anderson said, "but right now, I'm too tired to care."  
  
"What time is it, anyway?" I asked.  
  
Anderson glanced at his watch. "Nearly oh-three-hundred."  
  
"Good heavens," Al said. "Do you always keep a girl out this late?"  
  
"Only on my good days, Colonel."  
  
"Chief Anderson!" the journalist in the pink chiffon was lurching across the lawn on three inch heels that sank into the turf with each step. "Elsa Lannigan, _Center City Morning Herald_! Do you have a comment to make in the wake of this debacle?"  
  
"I think I'm going to arrest that woman," Colonel Garrett said and strode off to intercept our intrepid reporter.  
  
"Let's go home," Anderson said.  
  
  
  
Mark, Jason and Tiny took the _Phoenix_ back to Center Neptune while Shay drove the limo back to the Chief's residence, which was only fifteen minutes away. Keyop was already asleep with his head on my lap. Anderson was leaning back in his seat, seemingly dozing while Al busied herself cleaning my little silver throwing knife. She handed it back to me hilt first. "Good as new," she said.  
  
"Thanks," I said. "Shay, you couldn't have picked a more perfect gift."  
  
"You're welcome," Shay said.  
  
"So," I said, "what are you going to do about Colonel Garrett?"  
  
"I'll wait for him to call me," Shay said. "He's got my card."  
  
Al just smiled and patted my hand in sympathy. "And after all that," she said, "you didn't get to dance in your pretty dress."  
  
I chuckled softly. "I can live with that," I said. I left out the part where I'd been kissed. A girl ought to have a few secrets here and there.


End file.
